A Jedi, he says, like his father before him. Is this what you are made of, my apprentice, after all? You are flayed and hollowed out with tenderness that softens your purpose, vines of tired grace like dormant weeds to strangle your resolve. It does not make you strong, the invocation of your clemency, but it has made you volatile. I can feel it in you now—the change, the rift—but there can be no outlet for your agency, no salvation for your change of heart. So there is goodness in you. My hearty congratulations. It will not save you now.
